Arrowhead ➳ Daryl Dixon

s i x

Six months past, and the Prisoners didn't see nor hear from Presley. The valuable girl was gone for good, they had come to believe. Whether she had moved on or died, she was no longer a thought in their minds.

Except for Daryl. He kept that arrow. Though he didn't think of her much, the arrow was a constant reminder of those glistening blue eyes and radiant smile. Her mysterious appearance had intrigued him, but not enough to actually care whether she lived or died. He kept the weapon on his desk, knowing that he would never have the heart to shoot it. Oddly, he didn't want to lose it. And so, it remained useless on his desk.

Presley kept going, not staying in one place for more than just a few weeks. She lived off the land and the supplies she gathered, relying only on herself and Zeva. She'd long ago lost track of the number of roamers she had killed, whether with a bow or a knfie. Many times she had considered returning to the Prisoners and taking up on their offer, but instead, she kept her distance. Her pigheaded attitude wouldn't allow her to admit that she needed help. They'll slow you down. She would tell herself. You'd get too attached, and so would they.

- - -

Presley whistled softly, and the lithe black dog returned to her side. Together they eyed the roamers that had taken over the streets. There were too many for her to fight off on her own. If she dared to use rapid fire, it would attract all the roamers in town, and then she would be really stuck.

This made everything more difficult, but not impossible. Especially to her. Steathily she crouched and crept over to the first house she saw. Using a rock from the flowerpot, she broke the glass of the window and crawled inside. Zeva followed her in silence.

Together, the two swept through the home, discovering the three old residents whom had lived there. Dead, or still walking. She raided the kitchen to the best of her ability, before moving on to the next house. Eventually, she filled her bag and made her way back to the Jeep. Shoving her supplies in the back door, she quickly disposed of a roamer using her knife and moved into the driver's side. The engine roared to life, attracting the attention of a few roamers, but she had peeled out of the town before they could even take a stumbling step towards her. 

Together they enjoyed each other's company, the soft hum of old nineties music blaring through the speakers. It was calming. So different from her old life. Dense traffic everywhere she went, assholes always parking crooked. Less people: more freedom. She could do whatever the hell she wanted. She could go get high. She could run down the street butt-naked. She was no longer controlled by a government. She was on her own. It was fairly enjoyable, but the absense of human beings was something that bothered her. 

Finally deciding that she had no clue where she was, she stopped on top of a hill.

She frowned at the sight of the prison highlighted on the map, just a few miles away from where she was now. How had she ended up here? Had she just driven in one large circle over the past few months? She had been up in the colder states for a while, but the cold was annoying so she had returned back to the warmth. Still, she hadn't thought she had come down this far. Huffing, Presley lowered the map, only to see a figure hiking up the hill. Instead of a hobble like most roamers, this one moved with a confident stride. However, Presley didn't notice the lack of a hobble. Instead, she simply grabbed her knife and exited the Jeep. Her real mistake was leaving the rest of her weapons in the Jeep.

By the time she noticed that it wasn't a roamer, it was too late. A gun was directed at her head.

Frowning at her own stupidity, she slowly lowered the only weapon she had on her. It clattered onto the pavement. She continued to mentally kick herself for her stupidity. The man smiled at her.

"Good girl..." He cooed, walking forward and kicking the knife away from her. Something about his cunning voice sent shivers down her back. Every instinct in her told her to run and flee, but she knew better. While she was fast, she wasn't faster than a bullet. He stopped, his eyes narrowing. "Wait, I recognize you... You're the girl who came me that can of beans."

Presley's eyes widened as she recognized the Governor. The man laughed. He was now clean shaven and didn't reak of death and urine. She said nothing, only stood there with her arms on the back of her head. What could he possibly want?

"You were by far the nicest one I had crossed. Most hardly even looked me over." He laughed again, bitterly. The emotion in his eyes was unreadable.  "That can of beans kept me going long enough to find a group... A stronger, better group." He smiled. "But you still didn't help me enough, sweetheart."

"I'm not going to beg for mercy, if that's what you think." Presley said boldly after a moment of silence. If death was coming for her, she would accept that. Most of the time she would do her best to fight, but she wasn't going to be a coward in the end. Why was she ignoring the instinct to run down the hill screaming until her lungs bled? Because that was what her father would have expected her to do- stand your ground, even if you're peering down the barrel of a gun. 

"No, no... You're too stubborn to expect that from. Instead, I think we can use your skills for something else." He looked over her shoulder, and all too late she realized that there was somebody behind her. She tried to turn and lunge away, but she wasn't quite quick enough.

"Run, Zeva!" She managed to choke, but the butt of a gun hit her over the head, turning the world around her black almost instantly.  Her body crumpled to the ground, unconcious.

The men moved to grab the dog, which was now lunging at the windows of the Jeep, but Zeva managed to escape before they could get their hands on her. They had foolishly opened the door and guessed the dog to welcome them with open arms, but the dog had managed to slip past them.

One of the men raised a gun towards the dog, but a command from their leader stopped them. "Don't. That mutt isn't worth the ammo."

The dog was heading right where they didn't want her to go: the prison.

- - -

you know the drill, peeps.
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